Lost love and hope found
by anathi
Summary: A new case leads Henry to an unexpected encounter with someone who seems to share his affliction - but not quite. Henry is not who Jo thought he was. Adam is not who Henry thought he was. And Mr. Griffin, expert in artifacts and adventures, inserts himself in the middle of it all. Adam fans: This story is for you! To those who are not yet Adam fans, I'm plotting to convert you :D
1. The lost book of spells

"You are Myrrh, the bitter, the difficult, who reconciles / combatants, who sears and who forces those to love who do not acknowledge Eros. Everyone calls you Myrrh, but I call you Flesh-eater and / Inflamer of the heart. I am not sending you to far-off Arabia; I am not sending you to Babylon, but I am sending you to her…so that you may serve me on the mission to her, so that / you may attract her to me."

-"Love spell of attraction", excerpt from _The Greek Magical Papyri_

* * *

The door to the antique shop chimed, it's echo reverberating through the stillness of the night.

"Bloody—" Henry's hand slipped while making an incision into the dead rat. Tossing the botched autopsy into a bin, Henry hustled upstairs, not wanting the sound to wake Abe. Who had the nerve to come by at this hour anyway? He strode across the antiques shop and jerked open the door, and froze.

"Hello, Henry."

"Nooooooo!"

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

"Henry. Henry, wake up!" A hand was shaking Henry's shoulder. The smell of coffee brought him to his senses. He peeled open his eyes to see Abe hunched over him with a worried expression. "You were dreaming about Adam again, weren't you?"

"Not _dreaming_!" Henry scoffed. "It was a nightmare. I just can't believe it. The bastard is bedridden and still manages to haunt me!"

Abe gave him a knowing look. "Have you given any more thought to—"

"No." Henry said with his don't-you-dare-go-there father voice. "Adam haunting me in my dreams is still better than Adam haunting me while I'm awake. Besides, the man was crazy enough as it was. I'd hate to see a vengeful Adam." Henry got out of bed and wrapped his robe around himself, tying the knot with a firmness that indicated the conversation was over.

Abe shook his head as he headed back to the kitchen. He set the morning paper down on the table. "Here, this'll take your mind off it."

As Henry sat down at the table his eyes caught the headline:

 _Third historian dead. Police yet to find plausible suspect._

Henry scanned the article. Multiple deaths…no known suspect…ancient Greek artifacts. He let out a sigh. If only Jo would enlist his help on her cases again. Nearly three months had gone by since he told her the truth - well, tried to. He had waited too long. By the time he got to telling her he was immortal, she had so little trust in him that his word held no credibility. He cringed as he remembered her barking laugh. _Henry, if you're going to keep lying to me, you could at least try to make it believable!_ She'd requested the precinct work with another M.E. for the time being. She needed time to think, she said. But Henry wondered for how long.

"She wouldn't ignore me indefinitely….would she?"

"Just give her time." Abe's reply startled Henry, who hadn't realized he'd spoken his last thoughts aloud. He took a slow, brooding sip of coffee.

 _Rrrrring._

The coffee splashed as Henry jerked his hand. How he hated when the phone rang! He could only think of two calls that mattered at all to him - Jo or Adam. One call he craved, another he dreaded.

 _Rrrrrring._

Sensing Henry's reluctance, Abe got up and answered the phone. "Hel-lo?"

Henry tried to gauge who it was by the expression on Abe's face, but Abe kept his expression uncharacteristically neutral.

"It's for you." Abe extended the phone.

Henry raised his eyebrow in question.

 _It's a man,_ Abe mouthed.

What was that supposed to mean?

"Yes?" Henry said into the phone.

"Dr. Morgan!" came a voice that was most certainly not Adam's.

Henry's shoulders relaxed. "Yes, this is Dr. Morgan. How may I help you?"

"This is Aubrey Griffin. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I was—"

"From...the Roman dagger case?" Henry furrowed his brows at Abe, who shrugged his shoulders in return.

"Yes, that's right! Dr. Morgan, I was wondering," Mr. Griffin cleared his throat, "have you had a look at the paper yet today?"

"Ah, yes of course, the historian murder case," Henry said in understanding. "Did you know any of the victims?"

"Not personally, no."

"That's a relief. Nonetheless, I'm sorry to hear the news. That must be quite nerve-racking for someone in your field of work."

"Indeed. Which is why I am keen on solving the case. That and, well, I thought you might like to know a little tidbit about the victims. You see, they have something in common."

"Yes, it says here that they were all historians specializing in ancient Greece."

"We can be more precise, Dr. Morgan. They were all tracking down an ancient Greek artifact that I find quite interesting and think would be of interest to you, as well."

Henry was quite done with ancient artifacts, but decided to humor the man. "And what was that?"

"A lost page of the _Papyri Graecae Magicae_ , said to have been once in the possession of a slave of Julius Caesar's. It is rumored to contain a love spell that can bring back dear ones from death, among other things."

"Indeed?" Then thinking his voice might contain a bit too much interest, Henry added, "But surely, no one believes those spells actually work."

"Oh you'd be surprised how many do, Dr. Morgan. And it looks like our killer might be one of them."

"Do you have any ideas of who the killer might be?"

"Well, I can't be certain, but..."

"Go on," Henry prompted.

"I was eating at this Greek restaurant the other day—Athanasia, do you know it? Hm, well I overheard the owner engaged in a heated debate on the phone. My Greek is a little rusty, to be honest, but I could pick out some key phrases. I am most certain that he mentioned "ancient", "papyrus" and "death".

"Did you get a chance to speak with him?" Henry asked.

"As you know, Doctor, my name is known in certain anthropology circles, so I'd like to keep a low profile on this case, at least until the culprit is caught. But if say, _you_ were to gather some concrete evidence and share that with the police, they might be quite appreciative of that, wouldn't you say?"

Henry's mind darted to Jo. "I think you might be on to something, Mr. Griffin. What's the address?"

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

With a spring in his step that Henry hadn't had in months, he walked up to Athanasia Restaurant. It was a small hole in the wall really. He could see a lone customer seated by the window working on a kebab. Henry swung open the door determined to bring back any piece of evidence to prove himself to Jo. (And it wouldn't hurt to learn more about that ancient book of spells!)

"Welcome to Athanasia. Just one?" A young hostess of small stature greeted him in a thick accent.

"Yes, just one." Henry looked around.

"This way please." The young woman—a teenager, really—started to lead him to a window seat.

"Actually," Henry eyed the entrance to the kitchen, "would you mind if I sat at that table over there?"

The hostess looked puzzled and in the most polite tone possible said, "Noisy by kitchen, sir."

"I don't mind. I haven't been to Greece in a long time and enjoy the smells and sounds of an authentic Greek kitchen." He gave an enthusiastic smile.

The hostess nodded in feigned understanding. "As you like, sir."

As she wiped down the plastic tablecloth, Henry glanced at the kitchen. Fortunately, the doorway was door-less, and he could see a cook working industriously in the back, perhaps preparing for a catering order. Mid-40s, olive complexion, strong build, rather short. Could this be the man Mr. Griffin had overheard?

"…look over menu, sir?"

Henry's attention snapped back to hostess-turned-waitress.

"Sorry," Henry took the menu from her outstretched hand, "Could you recommend something?"

"Pork souvlaki is good," she suggested.

 _"_ I'll take that then, and a cup of coffee," he said handing her the menu. _"Efharistó."_

"Ah," her eyes sparkled. "You Greek?"

"No, no. But I spent some time there. _Mills ellinká_?"

"Me, Greek?"

Henry nodded.

"Not—"

"Zosime!" A voice barked from the kitchen. The waitress cringed. Henry looked up sharply. The cook had his head down and was engrossed in the food preparation. Henry scanned the kitchen for the origin of the voice, but didn't see anyone else.

"Sorry. I come back with your food." Zosime smiled, but her warm brown eyes held a sadness in them that told of difficult times.

When Zosime scuttled back to the kitchen, Henry then spotted the origin of the voice. A largish man with a mustache wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, which he then chucked in a bin. The man locked eyes with Henry, who quickly turned his gaze elsewhere. As he was waiting for his meal, he glanced around the restaurant for anything unusual. Other than the large, scenic photographs of Greece hanging on the walls, there wasn't much to look at.

Then the phone rang from inside the kitchen. The burly man picked it up and began chatting in Greek. Henry tried to make out the conversation. He got bits and pieces of the conversation—a few pleasantries, but was regretting not having dedicated more time to the language. Then the man started asking questions. _Who?...An expert you say?...Where can I find him?_ Henry smiled to himself. What he heard should be enough to justify calling Jo.

Then came a loud crash from inside the kitchen. The man muttered something into the phone and slammed it on its receiver. He whipped around and stalked over to a part of the kitchen that Henry couldn't see from where he was sitting. The cook looked up from his work, eyes concerned.

 _What is the matter with you? Can't you do anything right?_ The man's voice traveled into the restaurant. Zosime must have dropped something. Henry heard some shuffling. The man had lowered his voice to a point where Henry couldn't make out the words, but by the tone it didn't sound pleasant. A minute later, Zosime came dashing out of the kitchen. The man stopped in the kitchen door frame, eyes narrowed as they followed the young woman as she left restaurant. Shaking his head, the man stepped over to Henry's table and removed any trace of anger from his face.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said to Henry. "I'll be serving you today."

Henry stood up and straightened his scarf. "That won't be necessary." He then hustled out the door to catch up with Zosime.

"Wait!" Henry shouted after her small form receding down the sidewalk. "Wait, Zosime, right?"

She stopped, turning to look back at him. Catching up to her, Henry said between breaths, "Are you alright?"

"I-," She looked distraught. "I'm fine. It's-"

"What is it? Did that man hurt you?"

Zosime shook her head. "No, it's my muskulos." She squeezed her left bicep with her right hand. "They no function sometimes. I—" she let out a sigh, "can't keep job, I fail again and again."

"Your muscles keep failing you," Henry stated. Zosime nodded. Henry studied her forearms since her upper arms were covered by her shirt. For someone her size, she looked unusually strong. He definitely wouldn't expect her to drop even a heavy tray of dishes. "I'm a doctor; maybe I can help," Henry explained. "Have you been experiencing muscle failure for a long time?"

"Tree month?"

"How often does it happen?"

"I don't know...a few time per week?"

Henry racked his brain for a number of possible causes, but given her robust physique, couldn't see any obvious causes. Her face showed signs of fatigue, and perhaps lack of a healthy diet, but nothing that would explain this spontaneous muscle failure.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"No, no money."

"Oh you shouldn't have to pay. You can have your parents to take you to a clinic."

"No parents. I live in shelter."

"I'm sorry," Henry put a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you come to my home so I can examine you further?"

Zosime's eyes widened and she stepped back. Henry shook his head at himself, realizing that might not be the best way to offer help to a vulnerable teen.

"I'm sorry, how about we take the train to my friend's shop. I can give you a quick medical examination there. It's open to the public now and is a block away from the train so you can just hop back on when we're finished."

Zosime eyed him for a quiet moment, but then seeming to deem him trustworthy, the corner of her mouth turned up. "You help me?"

"Of course," Henry smiled at her. And maybe she could help him.

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

"Hi, Abe." Henry called as they stepped through the shop entrance.

"Hello!" While seated at his desk, Abe peered over his glasses. Noticing Henry's guest, he added, "And who is this lovely young lady?"

"She's from the Greek restaurant. I need to examine her muscular system. Would you mind if we sat over there?"

"Not at all." Abe got up and pulled a chair over to a corner of the store.

"I'll be right back with my med kit," Henry told Zosime. As he headed out the room, he noticed a package lying on the table. It was addressed to _Dr. Henry Morgan._

"What's this?"

"Oh, that?" Abe gestured to the package. "It came in the mail for you."

Henry looked at his name on the package warily. No return address.

 _Rrrring._

Henry jumped, then cursed under his breath. Abe locked eyes with Henry. They stood like that for one moment. It can't be.

 _Rrrring._ Henry picked up.

"Dr. Morgan!" Mr. Griffin's voice called through the other end. Henry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Did you receive my gift?"

"Yes," Henry eyed the package. "What is it?"

"You'll see. I noticed it sparked your interest when you visited my office, and wanted to offer it in thanks for your help on the case."

"That's…very kind of you," Henry said.

"It's nothing. I'm assuming you've already been to the restaurant? Did you hear or see anything useful?"

"Actually, I heard a conversation similar to the one you described. I'll make sure to share it with—" Henry remembered the girl was in the room. Not wanting to alarm her by mentioning the police, he finished, "—my colleagues."

"That's great. Keep me posted, if you will."

"Certainly, Mr. Griffin." Henry hung up the phone. Abe was giving him a strange look.

"Gifts and phone calls," Abe commented. "Sounds like you've found yourself a new stalker."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Your feedback is appreciated!


	2. Like some kind of angel or something

Henry put the unwrapped gift from Mr. Griffin to the side for the moment, giving it a final glance before having Zosime sit down while he gathered his medical equipment.

"I'm going to just run some tests to see if we might see what is going on with your muscles, all right?" He smiled at her.

Zosime swallowed and gave a quick nod.

"I'll start with your blood pressure." Zosime eyed the device in Henry's hand with suspicion. "Don't worry," Henry gave her a reassuring smile. "It won't hurt."

He reached for her right sleeve and started to lift it up. Zosime's left hand shot over to cover the sleeve. "What—are you dong?"

"I just need to wrap this around your upper arm to take measure your blood pressure." Henry looked at her arm and scrunched his eyebrows. He'd caught a glimpse of a scar when he'd lifted the sleeve. "What is it, were you hurt? Did someone hurt your arm?"

"It—it's nothing. Not related to muscle problem." She looked down at her knees, her black hair falling over her eyes.

"Maybe I can help—"

"You can't."

Henry exchanged a worried glance with Abraham. Abe got up and offered, "I'll go make some tea for us all." _Go easy_ , he mouthed to Henry.

"How about we hold off on the exam until we have some tea then," Henry said in a light tone. "If you would just give me a moment, I'm going to make a quick phone call. Why don't you…take a look around the shop while we wait for the refreshments?" He gave her an encouraging nod and she slowly slid off the chair.

Once she was engrossed in the antiques, Henry headed over to the phone and picked up the receiver. He dialed the first three numbers, then his hand hovered for a moment before dialing the rest. It rang. And rang…and rang again. On the fourth ring, Henry was about to give up—no sense in letting it reach voicemail—when someone picked up.

"Hello?" answered a man's voice with a thick New York accent.

"Hanson, sorry to bother you on the weekend. I'm calling because...I happened to come across evidence that may be useful in your case about the historian murders."

"Oh….really?" Hanson then added quickly in a low voice, "To be honest Henry, we're kind of stuck on the case and could really use a lead."

"Great! Shall I come down to the precinct tomorrow morning then?" He said, straightening up.

There was a pause on the other end. "Why don't you start by sharing what you have over the phone, and then we can go from there?"

"All right." Henry's shoulders dropped. "Well, there's this Greek restaurant owner," Henry began.

"Okay, tell me about him. What did you see?"

"I overheard him on the phone with someone, speaking in Greek, asking questions about where to find an expert of some sort."

"Okay, what else you got?"

"He started…" Henry glanced up at Zosime who was studying one of the lamps — not actually one of the antiques, funny enough. I didn't appear that she was following the conversation, but he lowered his voice anyway. "Hanson, the owner was yelling at one of his employees and fired her on he spot. He was quite aggressive."

"Okay, but what evidence do you have that's relevant to the case?"

"Don't you see? The owner is your suspect. He speaks Greek, he's looking for experts, he has a temper. And I heard another witness say he mentioned ancient Greek artifacts. This is your guy, I can feel it!"

"I hate to say this Henry, but we're gonna need more to go on then that. Now that you're not, well...We just need more concrete evidence to justify an arrest."

"If you could just look into—"

"I'm sorry, Henry. Really, I am. If you get any more information though, don't hesitate to let us know."

Henry sighed. "All right. Good day then."

"Take care, Henry."

Henry hung up and pressed his lips together. He glanced over at Zosime again, who was now seemingly enthralled with the grandfather clock. Seeing she was sufficiently occupied, he picked up the phone again and dialed Lucas, who would hopefully be at home and not at the morgue, because it was Sunday after all.

"Hello?" Lucas greeted on the other end.

"Lucas! It's Doctor Morgan."

"Hey doc!" Lucas sounded positively delighted to receive a call from Henry on the weekend. Henry really needed to remind himself how lucky he was to have Lucas as an assistant.

"I have a favor to ask."

"Anything you need, doc!"

"You see, Lucas, I'm trying to gather evidence for the Greek historian case. Have you been following it?"

"From the papers, a bit."

"Great! So I think I may have found the suspect, a restaurant owner, but I need your help in gathering enough evidence to warrant an arrest. The problem is that the suspect has already seen me, so I can't go back in there. I was wondering if you—"

"Could go track him down?"

"Yes now I think the best way would be to—"

"Hey, I could go apply for a job at the restaurant. That would be—"

"Just what I had in mind, Lucas! You see," Henry whispered, "He just fired someone, so I'm sure he'll need a replacement. Just—I don't suspect they pay much, so your going to need to look like you really need the job."

"Got it, doc. You can count on me."

"Wonderful! Meet me outside of Athanasia Restaurant in one hour then? Can you—"Google" the address?" Henry bounced on his feet.

"No problem, partner!"

Henry rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone, just as Abe popped back in the room with a tray of steaming mugs and biscuits.

"Tea time!" Abe set it down on one of the tables and waved Zosime over. "Hungry?" He gave her a warm smile. She looked down at the tray and allowed a small smile to show.

"Go on," Abe nudged a plate near her. She looked up at Henry for confirmation.

"Go ahead, of course!" He tilted his head and smiled.

Zosime finally reached for a biscuit and Henry realized how hungry she must have been because she didn't take long to finish a few of them.

"So, Zosime," Henry said, taking a more comfortable position in one of the chairs. "You were saying, on the train, that your family's from Athens?

"Yes, but I born in Roma."

"Ah, _parli italiano_."

Zosime surprised Henry by letting out a light laugh. "Everybody say that! 'Italiano' popular here?"

Henry gave Zosime a puzzled look, wondering why she didn't seem interested in speaking Italian—or Greek—with him when it sounded like English was still a struggle for her. Trying to sound conversational, Henry commented, "There's quite a strong Italian community in NY—though not everyone is fluent in Italian. What language are you most comfortable speaking?"

Zosime tilted her head to one side. "So you—Italiano?" Did she not understand the question or avoid it intentionally?

"No, no," Henry chuckled. "I just enjoy learning lots of languages!" Deciding to set the language question aside for the moment, Henry thought Zosime might be at ease enough to answer some questions about her health. "So, did anything happen three months ago that might have caused this problem with your muscles?"

Zosime set down her mug and gazed across the room, watching the people passing by outside the window. "Something happened…my life, very different before three month. Then my family were attacked." She frowned. "But I don't see how it connect."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Henry said. "Is that why you're in a shelter—did, did something happen to your parents?"

She took a deep breath and nodded, narrowing her eyes.

"Was it the restaurant owner? Did he attack your family?"

"What? Mr. Petralia? No, I just started work there last week. Only one week I made it there, before fired! Just like always, fired again and again!"

Henry understood her frustration but tried to keep the conversation on track. "Hmm, so tell us, what did happen three months ago?" Henry probed gently as Abe poured her some more tea.

"A bad man—very powerful—attack my mother. Me and my father try to stop him, but he hurt us. I was too hurt to see what happen next, fell asleep? My father had very bad injury. Probably he died... My mother, I don't know...I don't know where they are or if they survived!"

"I'm so sorry. Maybe we can help you locate them. But first, tell us, what kind of injury did you get, Zosime? That could very well be related to your muscles."

"I was stab, here," she wrapped her hand around to indicate her back.

"Can I see it?" Henry asked softly. She looked at him for a moment and gave a quick nod. Walking around to her back, he lifted up her shirt to reveal a thick, long scar. Depending upon how deep it went, it could have been nearly fatal.

"This doesn't look like a usual knife wound. What sort of weapon were you stabbed with?"

"We call it a _pugio._ "

Henry gave Abe a wary glance. Three months ago was when they discovered the pugio used to kill Julius Caesar. He looked at the scar again. Strangely, it didn't show the same inflammation he saw on the museum curator's finger wound. "Zosime, why do you use the word _pugio_ to describe the weapon **.** Did it look ancient to you?"

"Ancient? I dunno, it look normal, but it happen so fast."

Henry walked around to face her, looking at her intently. "The man that stabbed you, what was his name?"

Zosime shook her head. "He's too much power. Danger. Can't say his name."

"We can protect you."

Zosime remained silent.

"His name, Zosime. What's his name?" Henry said with fierce eyes.

Zosime just shook her head. She was clearly terrified of this man, so Henry tried a different approach. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"The attack — that was the last time."

So it could have been Adam. But he needed to get more information to be sure. Henry then had an idea. "The scar on your arm, is that related?"

She just looked at him, holding her breath.

"May I?" Henry asked.

After a moment she reached over and lifted her sleeve, eyes fixed on the floor. Underneath revealed four letters roughly carved into her upper arm: _SGIC._

"What does it mean?"

"It means I belong to _him."_ she muttered.

"What do you mean, _belong_?" Henry said in a furious tone.

She looked off in the distance and pursed her lips. "I'm a _serva_."

 _Where would she have learned the Latin word for slave, as well as dagger?_ He looked at the scar again. _S—Serva. GIC_ … How dare he, that Adam!

"The man, did he call himself _Gaius Iulius Caesar?"_

Her eyes widened. "You—you heard of him?"

"I've actually met him, unfortunately." Henry narrowed his eyes. "However, I can promise you one thing, Zosime. That man will _never_ hurt you or another person again!"

"How can you know?"

"I can prove it. And I will, rest assured." He looked at the clock on the wall. "But right now I have to meet my assistant. We have some business to attend to that will hopefully end well for all of us. Will you stay here in the shop until I get back?"

Zosime nodded and Abe offered, "I'll see that Zosime's looked after in the meantime."

"Thank you, Abraham." Henry nodded to them both. "Zosime." With one sad smile, he tied his scarf and headed out the shop.

AMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAM

Once Henry was out the door, Abe turned to Zosime. "So….what do you like to do for fun?"

She gave him a puzzled look.

Abe looked around the store for inspiration. "Hmm, well, have you ever played chess before?" He brought over the chess set and started arranging the pieces.

"Ah, a game?" she asked.

"Yes, it's quite fun! I'll teach you."

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

 _That evening..._

Henry entered the antique shop, finding it dark and vacant. "Abraham, you won't believe it. Lucas found concrete evidence against the owner—and I brought back dinner!"

When he received no reply, Henry couldn't help his heart racing. "Abe?"

"In here," he heard Abe's voice sounded far away as it travelled from the living room. Something about it didn't sound right, so Henry rushed over, only to find Abe intently looking through a book and Zosime asleep on the couch.

In a voice Henry could barely hear, Abe whispered "He really was like an angel…"

"Abraham?" Henry set down the bag carrying dinner and their new piece of evidence to give Abe his full attention.

"I finally know why I survived the camps," he said a bit louder, looking up at Henry.

"What? How?"

"The gift Mr. Griffen gave you. It was Joseph Mengele's diary! I—I'm sorry, I just had to open the package. I wanted to make sure Griffin didn't have bad intentions toward you." Abe opened the ledger up to a page of writing. "It's all here, in Mengele's notes. He had taken me from my parents when they died and kept me in his lab for some reason." Abe's voice was thick with emotion and he cleared his throat. "But someone had rescued me, from the lab, and hid me somewhere safe. Mengele was furious and managed to find me and punish the culprit, but I was rescued again and again…"

"Stop, wait." Henry put a hand on Abe's shoulder. "How can you be sure it was you? You were just a baby." Henry didn't wan't to break Abe's heart, knowing how many years Abe had wondered how he'd survived the camps unharmed.

"By my number. It's written down right here. See?" Abe pointed to a section of the page. "Pops…That man—he didn't have to do it, rescue me. Mengele says here that he could've escaped the camp each time he was reborn. I—" Abe closed his mouth.

Henry remained silent for a moment. He wasn't sure if Abe knew yet who "he" was, and didn't want to bear the bad news. "Abraham…"

"I know who it was, pops. The notes say he was the only immortal Mengele came across."

Henry closed his eyes. "Why?"

"I don't know, dad."

Henry sat down, shaking his head in wonder, and gave the ledger a sidelong glance. How can this be? He reached for the ledger and slowly pulled it toward himself. Flipping through the pages, he stopped on the same twisted drawings he saw in Mr. Griffin's office. Letting out a shuddering breath, he turned to the last page, and saw that Mengele apparently had the same questions they had, and ended his notes with one question: _Why would a man who has enough knowledge and skill to conquer the world give up everything for a nameless baby?_

Henry snapped the book shut and stood up again. "It doesn't erase what he did to me. It doesn't erase the threats he made against Jo. And it doesn't erase the fact that he hurt Zosime and her family."

"Listen, pops. What if…what if Adam isn't who you think he is? The two just don't add up. It's like they're different people entirely."

"Adam," Henry's face darkened, "was the dictator formerly known as Julius Caesar. There is no other explanation. He was stabbed with the pugio that killed Caesar in 44 BC!"

"But what if, pops?"

"Abraham, I am so sorry that _monster_ had to be the one who… Look, I don't know _why_ he would have saved you at the camps, but if either story were to have an alternative explanation, I'm afraid it's likely that one."

"Let's...not talk about this now," Abe suggested. "I heard you say you brought dinner? I imagine Zosime might be hungry."

Agreeing that they needed a break from this conversation, Henry went over to Zosime and gently nudged her awake. "Zosime…"

She flew into a seated position. "Nai?"

 _So she did speak Greek…_ "I brought dinner," Henry said. "Would you like to join us in the kitchen."

"You are too generous, both of you! I should go back to the shelter. You don't need give me so much."

"It's our pleasure," Abe said. "Besides, my lady friend invited me out to dinner so Henry will need help finishing all of the food." He winked at Zosime, who returned a small smile.

"Oh, well then," Henry said, a bit of surprise coming through in his voice. "Do you mind if it's just us?" He turned to Zosime.

"I guess that okay - if there enough food."

"Definitely!"

"Okay, well, I'm off then." Abe smiled and waved goodbye.

"All right then…" Henry waved back.

AMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAM

Abraham got off the metro and walked by a rather fancy restaurant, and kept going. And he kept on walking until he reached a hospital. Striding through the front door, he went up to the reception.

"May I help you, sir?"

Abe replied, "Yes, I'm here to see a patient by the name of Lewis Farber."

* * *

Thank you for reading and again, your feedback and thoughts are greatly appreciated! (I'd like to acknowledge Viskey-HeroMouse for correcting my Latin. Thank you!)


	3. The unsolved stories of Abe and Abraám

After a while of eating with just the sounds of silverware clinking against the plates and the hum of traffic passing by, Henry broke the silence.

"So, Zosime, how long have you been in the United States?" He poured her some more juice, noticing that she'd downed it quite quickly.

"About three months." She took a sip of the juice, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

"Right when your family was attacked? Did that…happen in Rome or once you moved here?"

"In Roma." She looked out the window for a moment. "I—I don't know how I got here. When I woke up after the attack, I was here, in this strange country." Zosime swept her hand in the air and stood up. "That's why I need work, to get money to go back and find my family. But ticket is so expensive! And I keep losing job!"

Henry tilted his head, considering her for a moment. "Can you read Greek?"

Zosime wiggled her hand. "So so."

Henry reached over to the folder he'd set on the counter when coming in. "I could use a little help with translating these notes here. They're in Greek. I could give you a little compensation for it."

"Pay me? To read?" Zosime's flabbergasted expression was quite comical, but Henry resisted the urge to chuckle. He suspected life hadn't been generous to her, and there were likely many things she'd had to do without compensation-possible due to that miserable psychopath.

Henry nodded, waving the folder in the air. "My assistant Lucas found this in Mr. Petralia's back office. It appears these are notes your former boss made to track down an Ancient Greek papyrus. Unfortunately, several people who are considered experts on Ancient Greece have been murdered recently. This document could be evidence that Mr. Petralia is involved in these murders, and if you can confirm what the notes say, it may be be enough evidence to grant the police a warrant for his arrest."

Zosime's eyes widened. "I was working for a suspect of murder?"

"I'm sorry," Henry said. "I know you've been through a lot—"

"No, I want to help." Zoseme gripped her napkin. "No murder should go without justice."

"There's something else, Zosime." Henry rose from his seat and walked to her side, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Justice has prevailed for your family as well. The man you know as Gaius Julius Caesar has been captured. He can't hurt anyone anymore. I can take you to where he's being held. Maybe that will give you some peace of mind."

"Really? I—" Zosime's mouth opened. "I can't believe it. Are you sure?"

"Positive." Henry gave her a small smile. "If we can go over Mr. Petralia's notes tonight, and bring them to the police tomorrow morning, we can stop by and see Caesar after that. It'll be your chance to tell him whatever—"

"Can we go now? I need to find out what happened to my family."

"Unfortunately, he cannot speak—or write." Henry gave her a sympathetic look. "It was the only way to keep society safe."

Zosime's dark eyebrows furrowed. "Can't we…let him speak just one time, so I can ask about my family?"

"I'm sorry." Henry shook his head. "It's just too dangerous. We can't risk him escaping."

"What about my father, Dr. Morgan?" Zosime looked up at Henry. "He risked everything for my mater. A slave who defy his master…if he survived, the punishment would been so terrible, so…terrible."

"Wait—your father was enslaved by Caesar, too?" Henry marveled at how Adam could get away with this in modern times. Then again, he did manipulate Henry into killing a man.

"And my mother." Zosime looked down. "And he took my baby brother Abraám and we never, we never saw Abraám again."

Henry breathed forcefully through his nose. "Don't worry, Zosime. We'll find out what happened to your family. I promise."

* * *

 _The next morning:_

Getting up from the breakfast table, Henry grabbed the notes he'd worked on translating with Zosime.

"Well, Abe," he said, swinging a scarf around his neck. "We're off to the precinct with key information that should crack this case." Henry's voice carried the enthusiasm of the old days when Henry would work on cases with Jo.

Abe cracked a smile. "Good to hear that." Looking at Zosime, he wagged his finger. "Now you make sure Henry doesn't get too carried away with the evidence that he forgets to properly greet the wonderful officers at the precinct. Especially a lovely lady named Detective Martinez."

Zosime giggled.

"Oh, Abraham," Henry smiled. "You never told us how last night went!"

"Oh, uh," Abe fiddled with his napkin, "it was pretty emotional…some stuff came up that…that I—I'm just not sure if I dealt with it properly, so…"

Seeing Abe's discomfort, Henry gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Sorry to hear that, Abraham. Let's talk when I get back, all right?"

"It's nothing, don't worry. I can figure it out." Abe gave Henry a smile.

"Well, I'm here if you need me," Henry said.

"Thanks," Abe gave him a nod. "Well, off you two go!" He gave them a smile and a wave.

Once they were out the door, Zosime commented, "I wonder if it's the man in that book Abe was reading that got him preoccupied."

Henry stopped and swiveled to face her. "What d'you mean?"

Zosime put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, er, it's…nothing?"

"Did Abraham say something to you about the man in the book, when I was gone?"

"Just that, just that the man had helped him, and that he wanted to talk to him but he couldn't but then…"

"What, Zosime, what did he say?"

"I ask him why he couldn't talk to him. He said actually there's a way he could. A way he could speak with him, ask him questions he want answers to for many years."

"Zosime, come along," Henry pointed down the street and taking deep strides. "We've got to make a detour before visiting the precinct. Stay close by my side," Henry clutched Zosime's shoulder as they speed walked. "I'm afraid Julius Caesar may have escaped."

* * *

 _Next chapter:_

Find out why Adam never had the courage to test his dagger theory, and why he became desperate for Henry to do it for him.


	4. De Medicina

Henry dashed into the hospital like the lead character on a medical drama, Zosime in toe. He pushed through the crowd of people in the waiting area and marched up to the registration desk.

"I'm here to check on a—friend of mine, Lewis Farber."

The receptionist started typing in the computer. Henry's heart raced. "Is he alright?" His eyes shuffled over the woman's face, looking for any sign of an issue with the patient in question.

"I'm sorry sir, but I cannot tell you. If you have a seat, your friend's physician will be with you."

"No, you don't understand. I need to see him now!"

"I'm sorry, but his physician is busy. You'll have to—"

"Busy with what?"

The receptionist rolled her eyes and shook her head. Henry took a deep breath and nodded in feigned acceptance. "Well, we'll just have to wait." He gestured for Zosime to follow him to the side of the seating area. Once the receptionist was busy typing, he put his finger to his lips and motioned with his eyes for the teen to follow. They glided out of the waiting area and into one of the hallways. A safe distance away from the reception desk, Henry said, "Now, we merely need to exude confidence and no one should question us. Zosime gave Henry a skeptical look but let out a snicker.

When they reached the wing where Adam had been staying, the curtain was drawn. Henry rubbed the back of his neck. He could see the foot of the bed through an opening in the curtain, but no more. He looked back at Zosime, who nodded solemnly. Seeing her resolve, Henry pulled the curtain aside. To his relief, Adam was still there, frozen just like he had been the last time Henry had visited.

"Pater!"

Henry felt Zosime brush past Henry, collecting herself at the Adam's bedside, talking rapidly in a language Henry couldn't understand. He heard bits of what sounded like Greek, but it wasn't like any Greek he heard spoken before.

Then it dawned on him that the girl was fussing over Adam with concerned gestures, not anger or repulsion as he had expected. Wait, had she said… _pater_?

"Why can't he talk?" Zosime turned to Henry, who was momentarily speechless.

"Did you just call him— _father?"_

 _"_ Yes, this is my father! Thank you so much…" she stopped and looked back at Henry. "How did you know where to find him?"

"I…" Henry looked between Zosime and Adam. She couldn't be serious, could she? With his hand on his lips, Henry studied Adam's face, trying to gain any clue as to his reaction. Of course, the man's face was still as a statue, but Henry thought he saw a shimmer in his deep eyes. Henry shook his head. A trick of the light, nothing more.

Zosime seemed too shocked herself to notice Henry's own surprise.

"What's wrong with him?" She patted and clutched Adam's arm. "Why doesn't he speak?" Zosime stared intently at the paralyzed man.

"I told you before," Henry said slowly. "He can't move, or speak, or write."

"Wait," Zosime stepped back, looking back up at Henry. "You think _he's_ Gaius Iulius Kaesar?"

"Shhhh," Henry gestured at her to be quiet as a nurse walked by with a raised eyebrow. Henry gave the nurse a quick grin. "Halloween costume, last year."

Henry turned back to the girl and leaned close to her ear. "Are you _sure_ …"

"Of course I'm sure! I know my father."

"But you say he was stabbed by Caesar three months ago?"

She nodded and reached for Adam's sleeve. Lifting it up, she gestured to the scar on his upper arm. _S.G.I.C._ The same markings Zosime had on her arm. Henry felt a pang in his stomach that surprised him.

"See?" Her eyes pleading, she stated, "Proof he's not who you think. Now you can release him!"

"Zosime…"

She turned and reached for the breathing tube keeping Adam alive. "Have to let him go!" As she was about to yank it out, Henry grabbed her wrist.

"No! That's—that's keeping him alive!" Realizing he came across as a bit harsh, he softened his voice. "This is not a prison, Zosime. This is a hospital."

Zosime's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. "You mean I almost—"

Henry wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "It's okay. You did no harm." Avoiding eye contact with Adam, Henry gazed across the room. If Adam had been furious and vengeful before, Henry could only image how he felt with Henry preventing Zosime from liberating him. But how could he let Adam go now? Finding his daughter didn't guarantee Adam would be any less of a psychopath. Who knew what kinds of revenge the man could have plotted while bedridden over the last few months.

Zosime's voice pulled Henry out of his musings. "All this technology, can't doctors help him?"

"No, there's nothing they can do—wait, what do you mean _'all this technology'_? It can't be that different from a hospital in Rome."

She raised her eyebrows. "Roma very poor. Very different. Nothing like here."

Henry glanced around to ensure no one was in earshot before he leaned closer to her. "What technology, precisely, did you _not_ have in Rome?"

"None of this. No," she gestured to the ceiling, "light. No," pointing to the machines by Adam's bed, "this or that. No car, no phone, no nothing."

Henry studied her face. He was starting to accept that she indeed resembled Adam. But if he was her father, _when_ was she actually born? He looked around them. This was not the place to get into a detailed conversation. "Zosime, why don't we go to the precinct and present the evidence we have for the Greek artifact case—"

"That's it!" Zosime beamed. " _Papyri Graecae Magicae!_ "

"Yes, that case."

"No, I mean, if we find it, the _papyri,_ maybe we can heal him." She patted Adam's shoulder. "My mother, she knew spells. Healing spells." She turned back to Henry. "We go to police, catch murderer, ask him for rest of notes about where the lost papyri is. We find papyri and try spell!"

Henry was about to dismiss her, but she seemed so hopeful. And that would at least buy him time to think about what to do about Adam. "Okay, we'll try that."

Zosime smiled and turned to her father. She spoke some words to him in a sweet, soft voice. Henry realized it must be Ancient Greek that she was speaking. That would explain why she didn't jump at the opportunity to speak modern Greek with people.

As they turned to leave, Henry stole a glance at Adam. His stomach clenched with fear as he braced himself for what was sure to be a look of hatred, but Adam's gaze was fixed on Zosime. In his eyes, Henry saw a look that he'd come to know as universal over his two hundred years of life. It was love.

Henry knew this look well enough, having gazed upon Abraham in much the same way, and found himself walking back over to the head of the bed. His hand hovered near the ventilator. Henry swallowed, fingers trembling as they neared the power switch.

"We go now? Find cure?" Zosime inquired, oblivious to the internal conflict plaguing Henry.

Withdrawing his hand, Henry turned to her and with a swing of his arm said, "Yes. Let's move along now." And they walked out of the hospital, Henry not daring to glance back.


	5. Mortem pro tempore

Henry Morgan. Age two-hundred thirty five. Borderline medical savant. Who right now couldn't recall a time where he'd felt more awkward as he stood between two formidable women while observing the suspect through the one-way glass of the interrogation room. On his left stood the mysterious Greek girl he encountered—Adam's daughter, apparently—arms wrapped tightly around her waist, who had no idea _he_ was the reason her father lay frozen in the hospital. To his right stood Jo, arms firmly crossed over her chest, who had broke their three-month long silence with "this better be a damn good suspect."

"Look, I didn't write this," Mr. Petralia's voice carried through the glass as he argued with Detective Hanson. "And whoever wrote it don't know no Greek," he added, jabbing the sheet of paper with a stubby finger.

"What do you mean, Petralia?" Hanson asked. "We had a native Greek speaker translate this for us and she had no problem reading it."

"Well maybe you gotta pick your translators more carefully," Mr. Petralia suggested.

As the two of them went on like this, Henry studied Mr. Petralia's every move. The restaurant owner showed the same temper he exhibited that day he fired Zosime. But Henry noticed something else. The man looked genuinely puzzled by the note. He didn't have any telltale signs of lying, meaning he was either really good at deception, or he was telling the truth, that he hadn't written that note.

Henry swiveled to face Zosime. "Did you truly understand ever word of that note Lucas found in Mr. Petralia's drawer?"

Zosime nodded and Henry rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes at the interrogation room. Then his "ah-ha" moment came.

"Zosime, I didn't hear you speaking in Greek to Mr. Petralia at the restaurant. Did you two ever try to communicate in your native language?"

"I tried, but his Greek so different. He didn't have patience to speak with me. His Greek not like my country."

"Not like your era, more likely," Henry muttered softly enough for no one to hear. Then he rapped on the glass. Hanson strode out of the interrogation room with a look of relief on his face at the prospect that Henry was about to provide some clarity. Henry stepped forward to meet Hanson. "This man may not be the culprit after all. I have reason to suspect that he may genuinely not understand the Greek that was written on that piece of paper." Henry gestured to Zosime. "Our translator here has confirmed that Mr. Petralia speaks a different dialect of Greek than what is written on that paper."

"So were back to square one," Jo chimed in. Henry's shoulders dropped. He'd failed to give her a good lead.

Hanson turned to Zosime. "Do you have any idea what type of person would speak the dialect written on that paper?"

"Anyone from my—"

"Field of study," Henry stepped in. Zosime raised an eyebrow at him. "Anyone from her field of study. You see, it appears this paper was written in Ancient Greek, so we're looking for someone who is very knowledgeable of that era."

"That makes sense!" Jo said, finally giving some positive feedback. She was not quite smiling, but at least she was focused on the case and not on being angry with him. "If the suspect is murdering historians in search of an ancient artifact, it's reasonable to expect the murderer to be equally knowledgeable."

"Like some kind of rivalry?" Hanson suggested.

Seeing the look of confusion on Zosime's face, Henry stopped her before she could ask any questions. "It's been a tiring morning," Henry put his hand on Zosime's shoulder. "I'm going to take our translator here to the break room for a cuppa. We'll be back in a minute."

"No problem, Dr. Morgan." Hanson seemed to buy Henry's excuse, but when Henry glanced at Jo, he could tell she was suspicious of why he wanted to pull Zosime out of the conversation. He sighed. She'd be most unimpressed if he were to tell her the young girl was actually born 2,000 years ago.

On the way to the break room, he gave Jo's desk a longing look. How could he regain her trust if she wouldn't believe him? Just then, her phone rang. Henry looked up across the room to where Hanson and Jo were talking. "Jo, your phone is ringing." But Jo didn't look up. They were too far away for Henry to communicate without shouting, and not being the type of man to shout, he picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hello, is this Dr. Morgan perhaps?"

Henry was a bit startled that the caller would recognize Henry's voice, especially since he hadn't been working with the precinct for three months. It sounded quite a bit like Mr. Griffin, actually. "Is this…Mr. Griffin?"

It was indeed Mr. Griffin, calling to see if there's been any progress in the case. "Have they caught the restaurant owner, by any chance?"

Henry explained how they did bring in the restaurant owner, but that he was not a likely suspect. "The note appears to be written in—a dialect of Greek that Mr. Petralia isn't familiar with."

"Did you find someone anyone who could translate it?" Mr. Griffin inquired.

"We were able to get the gist of it," Henry said, looking at the lady who was able to read the note.

"I see." Mr. Griffin explained that should they ever find someone who could decipher the entire note, he would very much like to meet their acquaintance. It would help a new book he was working on, he clarified. "Now, while I have you here, I'd be curious to know what you thought of the gift I sent you. You've had a chance to look at it I presume?"

Henry didn't respond right away. He couldn't quite figure out what Mr. Griffin's objective was.

"Dr. Morgan, it was clear to me that you had expected the very man who was tortured by Josef Mengele to walk through my door that night. And that is just fascinating to me. Why don't you tell me where you've seen this man, this immortal."

"I—" As he thought of how to respond, Henry looked at Zosime, and then across the room at Jo, who was now talking with the Lieutenant. Adam could not harm her now, but with his daughter showing up, and with Abe keen on finding out more about Adam's role in protecting him at the camps, Henry felt his control over the situation start to slip away. He really didn't want to bring in another variable, Mr. Griffin, who was recklessly keen on discovering the identity of the immortal.

Henry turned his back to Zosime and whispered into the phone, "I really don't think that it's wise to pursue a so-called immortal man, Mr. Griffin. You do not know what he's capable of."

"I think I made it quite clear that there are things to me that I value more than my own life. If you would just give me a hint, at least, a glimmer of hope for a old adventure seeker, if you will."

Henry looked up at the ceiling. He decided to tell Mr. Griffin about the Clark Walker case in hopes that it would satisfy his curiosity. "The culprit was killed in the end," Henry explained, "So he turned out to be very, very mortal after all. All I can say is the case must've left me a bit spooked." Henry let out a nervous chuckle. "I got carried away with the lore of the dagger and overreacted at your office. I really don't think there's an actual immortal walking the Earth as we speak. I'm sorry, I know you hoped—"

"I see," Mr. Griffin cut him off. "Well, an old man can always dream, can't he?"

Henry wrapped up the conversation with a couple more apologies and hung up. He turned and gave Zosime a reassuring smile.

"Why didn't you tell the man I could read the whole note?" she asked as they walked toward the break room.

Henry took a deep breath and ushered her into the room and closed the door behind them. "There's something I have to tell you." He gestured for her to have a seat.

"You—seem to be under the impression…" Henry went over to the coffee station and busied himself with pouring coffee into two mugs. As he added the milk, he continued, "that you and your family were attacked by Julius Caesar just three months ago in Rome, where there were no cars, no electricity, no technology like you see here." He gestured around the room and she closed her eyes in affirmation.

Walking back to the table, he set the two mugs down and sat across from her. "What do you remember from when you first arrived in this country? You said after the attack you woke up here. Where exactly did you wake up?"

Zosime shrugged, pulling the mug closer to her. "I dunno, it was dark. I woke up in some kind of box. When I stepped out…" she picked up the mug and took a sip, then set it back down slowly, quietly. "I realized it was a sarcophagus." She looked into Henry's eyes, searching for his reaction.

"I see." Henry reached across the table to put his hand over Zosime's, in part as consolation, but more to stop her from picking up the mug while he broke the news. "There's a reason why you're having trouble communicating with fellow Greeks here, Zosime. They speak a very, very different type of Greek because the variety you speak is very, very old. This may come as a shock to you, but Julius Caesar was killed over 2,000 years ago. And the man in the hospital, your father, is now over 2,000 years old."

"W-what?" Zosime's eyebrows rose and then fell. Squinting, she said, "No, no no. My father is like 30, maybe 40. 'Kaesar' is not that much older than him, 50, maybe 60? And he still may be out there since you people think you caught him and you didn't!" She let go of the mug and leaped up from her chair.

Henry pressed his lips and stood up, wishing he had some kind of cell phone to "Google" these historic facts to back up his story. To show her Caesar was dead, that Rome as she knew it, had fallen long ago, and that this was a very different world where she couldn't just go around talking about the past like it was the status quo. Then again, for now maybe it was necessary for her experience some sort of denial. He wasn't positive, he told her, but it seems like she was in some kind of stasis over the past 2,000 years, trapped in that coffin, preserved somehow. As if under a spell…

"Zosime! Can you take me to the sarcophagus you woke up in? Do you remember how to get there?"

"I think so…but I want to first look for the _papyri magicae_ to help my father. We can't leave him like that!"

Henry scrunched his mouth and nodded, wondering at first if he should he stop by and see Mr. Griffin to gather anything else he might know about the case. But if Mr. Griffin, expert in artifacts and adventures, didn't know where the lost page of the _papyri magicae_ was, then who would? His heart clenched as he came to the next obvious conclusion. Adam. The 2,000 year old man and former slave of Ancient Greece would probably be his best source in cracking the case. That insufferable man, both a threat to his loved ones and possibly the key to solving the case and thus a chance to win back Jo and possibly… No. Henry wouldn't let himself think of what some of those spells in the _Papyri Magicae_ could do. It was probably fiction, anyhow.

"Sir?"

Henry snapped back to reality at the sound of Zosime's voice. "Well, uh, why don't we ask the officers on the case if they've found any other leads on the case. You could offer to perhaps provide the Greek perspective. Just don't-just don't mention Julius Caesar to anyone. The name is like a curse," he added, in case she clung to her denial of the 21st century.

With a solemn nod, Zosime followed Henry to the door. As he stepped out of the break room, he immediately knew something was amiss. Scanning the main room of the precinct, he saw the numerous staff members huddled around a desk. The officers were so engrossed in their discussion that they didn't notice the two of them as they approached.

It was Lieutenant Reece who saw them first. "Henry! Thank God. Zosime, maybe you can help us."

The crowd parted to let the two of them approach Lieutenant Reece's outstretched arm. It her gloved hand she held a crumpled piece of paper with Greek writing, stained in blood. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Zosime leaned forward for a closer look.

 _Αυτή θα είναι η δική μου._

Her eyes widened.

"What does it mean?" Lieutenant Reece's eyes studied the young lady in anticipation.

"It mean, 'She will be mine'." Zosime's eyebrows crinkled.

Lieutenant Reece sprung into action. "Hanson, run a Missing Persons report. Look for any possible connection to the case." She swiveled to face Henry, holding out the paper and a pair of clean lab gloves. "Dr. Morgan, could you run over this to Lucas for an analysis of the blood stain?"

Henry glanced over at Jo, who made eye contact but did not protest. He pressed his lips together in determination. "Certainly." He snapped on the gloves and collecting the paper. Turning to Zosime, he said, "Looks like we might have a new lead after all." He strode with enthusiasm to the exit, but noticed she had stopped and was bent over, resting her arms on her knees. "Are you all right?" He walked forward.

She stood up, rubbing her arms. "It's just my muscles," she said. But as they walked out the door of the precinct, she mumbled. " _'Αυτή θα είναι η δική μου.'_ That is the last word _Iulius Kaesar_ said to my father before he stabbed us."


	6. Revival

**I. Sarcophagus**

"Well, perhaps it's just a coincidence, I mean," Henry clarified, " _'she will be mine'_ sounds like something any killer might say," Henry offered as he and Zosime walked up the museum steps.

"But in _my_ language?"

"Well, the killer does seem to be obsessed with Ancient Greece. Perhaps upon researching obscure ancient documents, he uncovered that particular phrase. We've seen killers like that before." Henry shivered as his thoughts traveled back to the Jack the Ripper case.

Zosime looked unconvinced. Understandable, the attack on her family by Julius Caesar, although taking place 2,000 years ago, happened a mere three months ago in her timeline. Which brought them to their goal at the moment.

"Let's see what the sarcophagus you were buried in might tell us. It might contain a clue as to how you got here today, and why."

They strode into the museum and Henry's thoughts immediately went back to the Roman dagger case. The Roman dagger, the events leading to his fallout with Jo, Zosime's…revival, it all happened in this museum.

"Do you recall where it was, Zosime?"

She stopped in the middle of the gallery and scanned the room, looking a bit overwhelmed.

"Of course, it must have been quite disorienting—"

"There." She was pointing toward a stairwell leading to the floor below. She took a step forward, but Henry put his hand out.

"Wait," he said. "See the red rope covering the entrance? We'll have to be sneaky about getting by. Like in the hospital, remember?"

Zosime nodded and Henry mumbled, "but it would be much easier were Jo here."

"What would be easier?"

Henry froze. Jo…

As he turned to face her, he was keenly aware that the last time they were in this museum together, he had disobeyed her orders. He braced himself for a reprimand.

Jo was standing there alongside Hanson and a museum guard, with her hands on her hips. But her stance didn't look that angry, actually. "Why is it that you always wind up in the middle of everything, Henry?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Henry couldn't believe they were finally talking! His heart thumped. Did he detect a hint of amusement in her voice?

"We just got an anonymous tip about a suspicious person lurking around the Ancient Greek artifacts in the storage wing," Hanson nodded toward the right stairwell.

"Excellent." Henry looked between the stairwell and Zosime. "We can help!" he said with a swing of his arm.

Jo sighed and walked toward the stairwell. Henry grinned at Zosime. "Well, she didn't say no." Zosime smiled back.

The five of them walked past the red rope, the guard leading them down the marble stairwell, and entered a long corridor.

The guard gestured down the hall. "We checked all the rooms already but there's no sight of the suspect. Feel free to have a look around, though."

Jo and Hanson nodded and the four of them continued on. "Let's split up. Hanson, take the rooms on the left. I'll take the rooms on the right. You," Jo eyed Henry, who waited with bated breath for her instructions. "Don't stray too far."

"Agreed!" Henry couldn't contain his smile. Once the officers were on their way, he turned to Zosime. "Does anything look familiar?"

Her gaze fixed at the end of the corridor, she nodded. "This-a-way."

They marched to the last room on the right, Zosime leading the way inside. There rested a dusty stone sarcophagus. It was a simple one, without any of the intricate carvings that Henry was accustomed to seeing in historical documents, except—

Henry crouched down and dusted off the side of the sarcophagus. The _Eye of Horus_ emerged _._

"Wedjat." Zosime sprung forward to kneel beside Henry. "I didn't see that before." She waved with her hand.

"It's for protection, isn't it?" Henry asked.

Zosime nodded. "I wonder if that's how…" her voice trailed off as she squinted at the carving. Why was there a box etched around it, she wondered, digging her nails into the edges of the rectangle. She snatched her hand back at the sound of grating stone. Wide eyed, she looked at Henry and then back at the Eye of Horus, now set further back into the stone. They both reached their hands toward indented rectangle and pushed it in further. It slid through to the inside of the sarcophagus an clattered as it fell inside. They stood and hurried to slide back the stone cover. With a grunt, it budged.

Zosime reached inside to grab the block of stone. "Look at this!" The block was actually hollow, with an opening at the top. Inside was a nested scroll. She handed the box to Henry while carefully pulling out the delicate papyrus. Unrolling it, she scanned the elegant Greek script. "A protection spell! This is probably what kept me alive those many, many years."

Henry's eyes widened. "Could this be the lost page of the Greek Magical Papyri? Does-does it say anything about bringing people back from the dead?"

Zosime shrugged. "Sometimes spells can mean different thing if different ritual done. But I could try this for my father!" She looked at him with elation. "Can we go back to the hospital now?"

Henry was about to respond when he heard footsteps approaching. _It's all clear on my side_ , Jo's voice carried from the hallway.

"Quick! Give me the papyrus." He took it from Zosime and hit it under his suit jacket. He tilted his head to indicate for them to leave.

As they headed out of the room, they bumped into Jo and Hanson. "All clear in there, detectives," Henry announced. Jo peeked suspiciously around him. Henry stood there and held his breath, but Jo just nodded and asked him if he had any insights.

He looked at Zosime. "Unfortunately, no. But I do wonder why the person who left the tip didn't reveal their identity."

Jo nodded and agreed that it was a bit strange. "We can at least talk to some of the museum goers to see if they saw anything suspicious."

Henry nodded, "We'll be heading out now. Abe will be expecting us soon."

They parted ways.

As Henry headed out of the museum with Zosime, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He craned his neck around and scanned the room full of tourists milling about here and there. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he shrugged and turned back to lead Zosime out of the museum "Let's go."

* * *

 **II. Cicuta maculata**

A bouquet of hyacinths and Queen Anne's lace adorned the bedside table by Adam. Henry thought that curious; could they have been left by someone who knew Lewis Farber? Henry plucked the crisp white card that was sticking out from the bouquet.

 _Looking forward to your speedy recovery._

No signature followed. Henry absentmindedly rubbed his hand while turning to Zosime. "I'll stand guard while you," he waved his hand to the papyrus, "do your thing".

She pressed her lips in resolution, taking hold of her father's hand. Henry grabbed the curtain and wrapped it around Adam and Zosime.

 _"Θα_ _προσπαθήσω να σας θεραπεύσει, πατέρα…"_ Zosime's melodious voice carried just barely through the curtain.

From outside the curtain, Henry observed the hospital staff busy about their duties, his thoughts drifting toward the papyrus. One thought worried him, the other, for some reason, excited him: Now that they had the papyrus, they could be a potential target for this serial killer. And now that they have the papyrus, however, perhaps, just maybe he could find some way to—connect with the dearly departed. Would he do it? If he could bring her back, but for a moment. He scratched his hand _Don't be silly,_ he told himself. That kind o magic didn't exist. And if it did—would she even want to come back?

"Finished," Zosime tapped Henry on the shoulder, bringing him back to the present. "Now, we wait. I've never done this before so—" Zosime's brows furrowed as she looked down at Henry's hands. "Are you okay?"

Following her gaze, he caught himself mid-itch and was stunned to see that the back of his right hand was swollen and red. He then became keenly aware that it stung quite badly. His eyes widened and he flung back the curtain. Lunging toward the flowers, he got within inches of the delicate, white lace. It wasn't Queen Anne's lace at all!

" _Cicuta maculata,_ " Henry whispered, hunched over the bouquet. _Abe, how sneaky of you._

"What is it?" Zosime looked between Henry and the flowers.

Henry stood back upright. "It appears—that I'm allergic to these flowers. Would you go outside and hail us a cab while I just check in with a nurse here? I'll be out in just a minute."

She nodded and, giving her father one last glance. She squeezed his arm before hustling to the exit.

Once she was out of site, Henry turned his attention back to the flowers, his heart racing. _Cicuta maculata,_ spotted water hemlock _._ There was enough of it to do the job. Abe must have left them for Henry to make the decision. It was now up to him. He weighed the options. On the one hand, releasing Adam would put himself and his loved ones at risk again. On the other, Adam, the clever man that he was, was bound to find a way out of his situation sooner or later, and he'd be much more vengeful if Henry did not take this opportunity to free him, especially with his daughter alone and a teenager in this world so foreign to her. And there was a third element now: the serial killer currently targeting historian, who seemed to have a link to Zosime's family, and who's words echoed that of Julius Caesar's. The sense of foreboding Henry felt at the museum returned. It was the kind of feeling he felt when Adam was roaming around. Ironic, he thought, but deep down he almost felt-vulnerable without Adam checking in on him.

Henry looked in Adam's eyes, as if expecting to find the answer there. Acting with atypical impulsiveness, Henry yanked his sleeve over his right hand, grasped the stem of the water hemlock with his covered fingers, and before he could change his mind, approached Adam's supine form.

* * *

 **III. Dictator perpetuo**

Henry was quiet as they took the cab back to the antique shop. It felt awkward sitting next to the daughter of a man he just murdered. Not _murdered_ , but induced into a slow and most likely painful-but temporary death. Henry couldn't be sure actually how the water hemlock would affect Adam. In a panic after realizing what he'd done, Henry had rushed out of the hospital, not waiting to see its effects.

"I hope it works," Zosime's comment once again pulled Henry out of his thoughts.

"Hm?" Henry's heart raced. Had she seen what he'd done? She might not understand. "Oh yes, the spell." Henry patted her hand. "Have faith," he said, more to himself. What has he done?

When they arrived at Abe's Antiques, Henry strode through the front door, the bell giving an extra rigorous chime. "Get ready, Abe. It's done!"

Abe popped out from behind a floor vase, dusting rag in hand. "What's done?"

"You know…the flowers."

Abe gave him a funny look. "What flowers?"

"You can drop the charade, Abe." Henry had his hands on his hips. "I know it was you."

Abe gesticulated in the air, insisting he had no idea what Henry was talking about. Henry narrowed the gap between the two of them to ask in a low voice if Abe meant to say that he actually _didn't_ leave the bouquet of flowers by Adam's bedside.

"Someone left him flowers?" The corner of Abe's mouth twitched. "How…sweet?"

Henry grasped Abe's arm. "If it wasn't you…" he lowered his voice so Zosime couldn't hear. Pulling the gift card out of his pocket, he handed it to Abe. "Someone left this by his bedside table. Along with a bouquet containing poisonous water hemlock."

Abe squinted at the card. _Looking forward to your speedy recovery._ "Poison and recovery don't normally go hand in hand, unless…"

"—they knew about Adam's condition."

"And wanted him to be free."

Henry started pacing around Abe. "But if they wanted to 'free' him, why not just," Henry lowered his voice further. "kill him themselves? I mean, leaving the flowers there sitting on the table wouldn't do the job." Henry waved his palm in the air, searching for the answer. "Unless they expected someone else to do it..."

"What if," Abe grabbed Henry to stop him from pacing. "What if they wanted _you_ to do it. What if that means they know about you, too. About your condition," Abe whispered, his voice tight with concern.

Henry shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand. Why involve me?"

The events of the past two days raced through Henry's mind.

The murdered historians.

The missing papyrus.

Mr. Griffin's call.

Mr. Griffin's "gift".

Zosime. Her muscle condition...

The attack on her family by Julius Caesar.

Adam.

 _SGIC._

The Greek restaurant owner.

The call.

 _She will be mine._

The sarcophagus.

The anonymous tip leading Jo to the museum.

The breakthrough with Jo (!)

The papyrus.

The poisonous flowers.

Henry grabbed Abe. "We have to get to the river. Now. It might even be too late."

"Why, Henry? Wait, you _want_ to find Adam?"

"Zosime! Come, we need to go now."

Zosime skittered along. "I don't think—"

Henry insisted that they had to hurry. "We need to get there first."

Abe started the car. Tires squealed. Abe didn't need to ask Henry why they needed to get there first. He trusted his pops would explain everything in due time.

They arrived at the river, and waited. The water was still. A few boats sailed by. Henry looked around, keeping his breath still. New Yorkers travelled up and down the sidewalk, going about their day. It didn't look like anything unusual had taken place. Perhaps they weren't too late?

Henry started to reflect on his actions. If what he thought was true, bringing Abe and Zosime wasn't the best idea. "Why don't you two go back to the shop. I can wait out here on my own; it may take a while," Henry said while nodding, as if to will them to agree.

Abe looked at him suspiciously, asking if he was sure he wanted to do this alone.

"Positive. Why don't you take Zosime somewhere-" _Safe._ "Somewhere more interesting. This could take a while."

Zosime looked more confused than Abe. What was going on, she wanted to know. Henry said he'd tell her in due time. He just needed to be sure first.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Your feedback is always welcome. Next up: Adam is back, and another immortal reveals themself and part of their intentions.


	7. The Spanish prisoner

"Beware / The sharp-beaked hounds of Zeus that never bark, The Grypons, and the one-eyed, mounted host / Of Arimaspians, who around the stream / That flows o'er gold, the ford of Pluto, dwell : / Draw not though nigh to them. But distant land / Thou shalt approach..."

- _Prometheus Bound_

* * *

With Abe and Zosime gone, Henry gazed out at the East River, and waited for Adam to emerge. Before long, Henry sensed someone approach from behind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood once again, though it could have been just the wind this time.

"You won't find him here, Dr. Morgan," sounded a very familiar voice.

Henry was not surprised when he turned around to see Mr. Griffin, rolling over to him in his wheelchair.

"Where is he?" Henry stepped forward, eyebrows furrowed.

"Why, is that a touch of concern I hear in your voice?" Mr. Griffin said with a toothy grin.

Henry squinted at Mr. Griffin. "It was you who left the flowers, wasn't it? _You_ wanted me to release him. But why?"

Mr. Griffin's smile was gone. He stared off toward the East River. "There is something of his that I desire."

Taking a deep breath, Henry guessed. "Zosime?"

Mr. Griffin let out a smirk that said the girl was of no interest to him.

Henry's eyes widened just a bit. "His...wife, then?"

Mr. Griffin conceded.

"But certainly you must realize she is long dead."

"A minor setback. That is not something that can't be remedied, Dr. Morgan. And thanks to you and Zosime, I am one step closer to my goal."

Squinting at the mysterious man, Henry asked, "How exactly have we helped you get closer to your—your goal?"

The ancient artifacts expert chuckled. "All in good time, Dr. Morgan." He raised a finger. "First, I need one more favor of you."

Henry straightened up, raising an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I want to help you?"

"I thought we were on the same page about our mutual acquaintance." Mr. Griffin fixed Henry with his gaze. "But if you need a bit of an incentive," he leaned forward and pulled something halfway out of his jacket. Glimpsing down, Henry saw it was the dagger. His mouth went dry.

Mr. Griffin lowered his voice. "Now. You will tell your friend-Jo, is it? Tell her that you need to get back into the lower corridor of the museum. That, in hindsight you remembered there was a key artifact that may help with the case. You will go back to that sarcophagus, and retrieve another papyrus, much like the one you already extracted, but on the other side of the sarcophagus." His eyes sparkled. "I think you'll find that this page is far more—interesting—than the first."

Henry took a deep breath, gazing out at the river, recalling his musings from the hospital just hours before.

With a flash of his teeth, Mr. Griffin waived Henry on. "Hurry along now. You'll be quite glad you did, if I do say so myself. And Dr. Morgan," the expert gave the doctor a long look. "Don't take too long." Mr. Griffin rolled the handle of the dagger between his fingers. "I'd hate to have to-kill time in the antique shop."

Henry's eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to reply, but glancing at the dagger once more, Henry whipped his scarf around his neck and turned to go contact Jo. At least this little mission would give him time to think, time to come up with a plan. He didn't even know what he kind of a plan he needed, but his gut told him to be on high alert.


	8. SPQR

Henry jogged up the museum steps, seeing Jo standing there waiting for him. Eyes fixed on Jo, he couldn't contain his grin, and didn't see the older man right in front of him until they collided.

"Oof, Henry, watch where you're going." Abe grasped Henry's shoulders to stabilize themselves.

Henry shook his head to bring himself back to reality. "Abe! What are you doing here?" He noticed Zosime was with him, looking slightly nauseous.

"We—we got a call." Abe said in a hushed voice, steering Henry back up the steps. Glancing up, Abe exclaimed, "Oh look, it's Jo! Could she be here for the same reason?"

"What? What reason, Abe?" Henry put his arm behind Abe as they ascended. "Who called you?"

Jo stepped forward to greet them. "I got your message. You said it was urgent?" Jo looked at Abe and Zosime, then raised an eyebrow at Henry.

"Let's get in side," Abe whispered, looking around.

Henry led them to the entrance of the basement corridor. "I received a tip about a clue for the case."

"From who?" Jo asked.

Henry pressed his lips. "Aubrey Griffin."

Jo tapped her finger on her lips. "From the Roman dagger case?"

Henry nodded as Jo mumbled something about that making sense. Turning to Abe, Henry asked. "What were you saying, about a call you received?"

"It's…" Abe put a hand on Zosime's shoulder. "Someone called to say they captured her father, trapped him in the sarcophagus."

"What?" Jo and Henry chorused.

"I thought that might have been why you were here, too."

Henry shook his head.

Jo unhooked the red rope blocking off the entrance. "Well let's go take a look."

Abe strode forward but Jo put her hand out. "I mean, me and Henry. Abe, you should wait with Zosime out here. We don't know if the suspect is down there."

"No," Zosime stepped forward, "I go with you!"

Jo was shaking her head no, but Henry jumped in. "Actually, she might be safer down here with us. The one person I can think of who might wish her and her father harm is incapable of walking down these stairs."

"You mean, like, someone in a wheelchair?" Jo asked as the four of them descended to the lower floor.

"Indeed." Henry's voice reverberated down the empty corridor and they marched forward. But Zosime couldn't hold off any longer and broke out into a run, forcing them to jog to keep up. As they collected at the last door on the right, she swung it open. The room almost looked just as they left it, full of ancient pots and statues, the sarcophagus at the center. Yet something was different. Henry scanned the room for anything unusual, but he didn't see anything.

"Is something burning?" Abe asked.

 _That's it._ It was a smell. Something like burnt firewood. "It appears there was," Henry mused, "something burning, but I don't detect any smoke." Dismissing the smell for later investigation, Henry walked toward the sarcophagus, and the others followed.

"So who is this person who you think is involved, Henry?" Jo asked while pacing around the tomb.

Then a thumping from inside the sarcophagus made them jump, and a muffled voice cried out. Henry and Zosime worked to heave back the lid. Inside was Adam, mouth gagged, arms and legs bound by thick rope, and strangely dressed in what looked like Ancient Roman garb.

"Pater!" Zosime wrapped her hands around Adam's head to untie the cloth covering his mouth.

"C'mon, let's help," Abe walked over to started to work at the rope around Adam's wrists, and Henry and Jo went to work at the feet.

Stepping in to assist, Jo got a closer look at the man in the sarcophagus and stopped. "Wait, is that—Dr. Farber?" Her voice rose in surprise. Shaking her head, she turned to Henry "Who—who do you think did this?"

"Erhm," Henry looked to Adam for answers. Zosime had succeeded in untying the cloth , and had Adam engulfed in a tight hug. "Pater!" She mumbled something in Ancient Greek. Henry left them to their moment while he turned back to the ropes that still kept Adam's arms and legs bound.

"Why didn't you tell me she was Dr. Farber's daughter?" Jo asked, returning to the ropes.

Abe tugged at one of them. "Damn, these are tough!"

 _Bam!_ The four of them jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut. "Looks like you all could use a bit of help," came a smooth voice behind them. Henry's shoulders tensed. He glanced at Adam, whose eyes were wide.

Henry turned around to see Aubrey Griffen standing there. _Standing!_ With no wheelchair in sight. The expert in ancient artifacts stood there smilingly, with a bunch of cloth in his arms — like the cloth Adam was wearing.

"Mr. Griffin—" Jo started but was cut off."

"You'll be wanting this." Mr. Griffin tossed them the cloth. Henry clumsily caught the bundle.

Mr. Griffin stepped forward and grinned. "Now, if you will finish untying the man before you, I will explain everything," waiving a scroll in his hand.

Henry furrowed his brows If Mr. Griffin wanted them to untie Adam, then who would have put him there in the first place? He looked at the papyrus and back at the ropes keeping his rival bound. This could be a very bad idea. But with a room full of people, Henry could hardly find an excuse to leave Adam bound like that. Besides, he needed to know what was in Mr. Griffin's hand. He reached for the ropes.

Just then a raspy murmur crept through the air. Mr. Griffin was whispering something Henry couldn't discern. The last thing Henry noticed before collapsing to the ground was Zosime shouting and a sweet floral fragrance filling the air.

* * *

Henry awoke to find himself on a cold stone surface, head throbbing. Clutching his head, he slowly sat up, blinking to focus his vision in the thick darkness. He squinted at what appeared to be a stone wall across from him. Dim light flickered over the surface - perhaps from a candle? He sensed others around him.

"Henry?" Jo's voice came from behind him. Then he heard Abe's. "Where…"

He could see their shadowy forms as they slowly stood up.

"No. No, no, no, no…" came Adam's voice from the other side.

As Henry's eyes began to focus, he could see the were in a small room with iron bars.

"Adam, what is this place? What's going on?" Henry could see the man, still in the sarcophagus, but sitting up, shaking his head. There was a long silence as Adam didn't seem to be able to bring himself to answer.

It was Zosime's voice that called out. " _Roma_."


	9. The life of another

_Some legends are told,_

 _some turn to dust or to gold,_  
 _but you will remember me,_  
 _remember me for centuries._  
 _And just one mistake_  
 _is all it will take._  
 _We'll go down in history._  
 _Remember me for centuries._

 _\- "Centuries" by Fall out Boy_

* * *

 **For centuries**

Jo did not know the details of Dr. Farber and his long-lost daughter, Zosime, but as she stood by Henry and Abe respectfully while they had their moment, she resisted the burning questions whirling through her head. How had they got there, in this stone cellar—or prison, she dreaded. What was the strange language were Dr. Farber and Zosime speaking, with Zosime's voice traveling a mile a minute and Dr. Farber responding in stilted, broken syllables. Doesn't he speak the same language as his daughter? Why did Aubrey Griffen toss them robes that looked like they should go to actors in an ancient Greek play? She glanced at Henry out of the corner of her eye. His eyes portrayed a myriad of emotions, and his lips were firmly pressed together, restrained.

Jo was jostled out of her rumination as a figure blurred past her line of sight and she jumped back just in time to avoid getting knocked off her feet.

"It's your fault!" Dr. Farber rushed at Henry, pinning him against the cold stone wall. "You fool. The cicada maculata - you shouldn't have touched it. You fulfilled Caesar's spell by killing me with that. If only you killed me with the _pugio_ like I asked you to, we wouldn't be in this conundrum right now!"

Henry was stunned speechless, for once. So it was Caesar who planted the flowers by Adam's bedside - as a trap?

"Ever since I saw him on the news during the Roman dagger case," Adam continued his rant, growling at Henry in frustration. "I knew that living for 2,000 years must have given Caesar even more Machiavellian knavery, and I was terrified. Of being enslaved again, of becoming a pawn in who knows what kind of delictum, and more importantly, _most importantly_ , of serving in his scheme to get to those most dear to me. Even, even though they be gone for two centuries, I—I never forgot."

"So why didn't you do it yourself?" Henry shouted, chest heaving. "If you thought he might entrap you, use you for some plan, why not test the dagger yourself? You certainly have no problem killing yourself through other means."

Mouth agape, Adam shook his head, and glanced at his daughter, who was gesturing wild at Jo and Abe, in attempt to explain the situation. Adam closed his mouth and lifted his chin "That's-that's different. I just couldn't…even if logic told me she was dead, I couldn't abandon her, couldn't forfeit my role as a father…"

"For two centuries…" Henry marveled.

Just then heavy footsteps approached. A muscular guard in red robes and armor walked up to the metal bars of their cell. After scanning the room, he tossed a few spear-like rods of metal through gap. The metal rattled on the ground, the sound reverberating against the stone walls. Without a word, the guard left back down the shadowy hall he came from.

Eyes wide, Adam stared at the metal, the candlelight flickering over the pointed ends of the rods. Then he whipped back to face Henry, backing him up against the wall. "Thanks to you," Adam's chest heaved as he pointed a shaky finger at the metal spears. "Thanks to you, we'll be forced to fight. To fight vicious and ruthless gladiators. To the death."

Henry looked at the spears with wide eyes for a moment, but then threw his hands in the air. "So just kill yourself! Kill yourself and escape, like you always do!"

 _"_ Well _they can't_ , Henry, _"_ Adam grasped Henry's shirt and brought him closer as he restated in a whisper, "They. Can't." Adam released Henry's shirt and swept his arm around the room.

Henry breathed in hard through his nose as he looked wildly around the room at the three mortals who stared at them in silence. Of course. How could he be so foolish.

Abe was the first to step forward. In a shaky voice, he asked, "Did, did I understand this correctly? That _we_ have to fight - gladiators? Like, real gladiators?"

Panic was rapidly settling among the group. Despite Zosime's rather elaborate explanation, Jo could not comprehend, how could they be trapped in Ancient Rome? "It's going to be okay," she muttered, mostly to herself, while pacing around the group.

"Of course," Abe tried his best to sound encouraging. "Just think about it. We've got 2,000, over 2,300 years' experience between us. Well," he looked at Adam, "mostly you. But anyway, Dad, they may be stronger," Abe tapped his head, "but we're smarter."

Jo nodded, catching on to his enthusiasm. "That's right. I'm sure they don't know about 21st century combat and self-defense techniques."

Zosime nodded vigorously and came to stand by Adam, clasping his arm. "We tell them everything we know, about the gladiator. Together, we find solution!"

So the five huddled and hunkered down, discussing tirelessly through the night. No time for a good night's sleep, they knew they'd need to survive on wits and adrenaline alone. They had each other, and if it came to it, they'd die together. At least they'd be together.

"And at least," Henry commented to Adam, "It would have been for a good cause." He nodded. "For love. For agápe."

* * *

 **Water thief**

At some point, in the earliest hours of the morning, they must have fallen asleep, as they found themselves being awakened by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Two pairs - a heavier set followed by a quieter one. They turned their heads and were startled to see…

"Mr. Griffin?" Jo sat up, looking between the older man and Henry and felt she must be dreaming, as she saw the mysterious artifacts expert glide toward the cell, dressed in a red robe tied with gold clasps, something akin to what she'd imagine a Roman emperor might have worn. Not to mention, he was walking unaided again.

 _Caesar._ Could it really be?

The self-proclaimed dictator was followed by a woman in a simple robe who kept her head down, carrying a clay pot. The woman placed the pot on the ground, her dark, braided hair falling before her face.

"Mama!" Zosime rushed forward, halted by the thick metal bars.

Her mother reached for her through the gap, but Caesar yanked the woman back. She tore free from him, grasping the bars of the cell. "Zosime! Nikandros!"

Adam rushed to the iron door, falling to his knees. "Eua," he whispered, reaching his arms through the gaps. Two centuries apart and now a barrier not even three fingers thick kept him from wrapping her in an solacing embrace.

"Τι συνέβη? Είσαι καλά?" She held tight to his forearms.

Adam could only shake his head as weary tears fell down his cheeks.

Unaware of the 2,000 years that had passed since her husband saw her, Eua continued with the frantic questions. "Γιατί θα σας βάλει στο κλουβί ενός μονομάχου?"

Finally finding his words, Adam spoke to her in a soothing voice, but she was unconvinced of his attempts to reassure her.

Caesar thrust his arm between them and pushed Eua back, cutting short their brief reunion. The Roman dictator reached for the plug in front of the vase and yanked it out, setting the water loose.

Eua shouted for her husband and daughter as she was dragged back down the dark hallway, away from the cell. "Δεν μπορούν να σας κάνουν να αγωνιστούμε!"

Jo and Abe sat in utter confusion.

" _Clepsydra._ Water thief." Henry broke the silence. He turned to Adam, afraid to disturb him after the heartrending reunion, but desperate to know. "How much time?"

"About half an hour," Adam spoke, eyes never leaving the spot where his wife once stood.

An uneasy silence settled among them, only pierced by falling drops of water, as they watched time flow before them.

* * *

 **Agápe**

Before long the water was dry. The guards jostled the quintet out of their cell, nudging them down the stone passageway, toward the arena. With Abe and Jo on one side, Adam and Zosime on the other, Henry's eyes bore through the arena's gateway, his heart thumping and his mind whirred. What would they find beyond those gates? Would their plan come work, or would he lose his son and his dearest friend tonight?

Two guards drew the gates open, the roars of the crowd pouring through. Henry grasped Jo's hand on his left, and for some reason, feeling a moment of peace, turned to Adam. "Her name's Eua?"

Adam dipped his head in affirmation.

"All this," Henry mused over Caesar's elaborate plan to posses Eua, "for a woman?"

Holding firmly onto Zosime's hand, Adam smiled—or grimaced. It was hard to tell.

"What can I say, Henry. A good woman is hard to find."

Henry nodded. "At least there's this: You now have the chance to save her."


End file.
